


Hell's Bells

by pushingthesenses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingthesenses/pseuds/pushingthesenses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a strange place, this world. So many things are happening at once. Someone’s entire world could be crumbling around them, and the population of the world is completely ignorant to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Another Destiel story in progress. I haven't actually got this entire story planned out as of yet, but we'll see where it takes me! Don't hesitate to inform me of any spelling errors, it's a wonderful life without spellcheck.

It’s a strange place, this world. So many things are happening at once. Someone’s entire world could be crumbling around them, and the population of the world is completely ignorant to it.  
Funny, how, now that the actual apocalypse is starting, the population of world is still completely ignorant to it.  
It was September 24th, 2012, and it was a sunny day in South Dakota. Outside the rickety, rusting scrap yard, the world looked normal. Beautiful, even. No one would have guessed that the biblical apocalypse was on the cards. However, if you were to enter the ranch-style house that guarded the scrap-yard, you would see a different story.

“Well dammit all to Hell, then!” Dean growled, slamming a fist down on the table.  
“Dean..” Sam sighed, looking up at his older brother, as though one of his ‘I don’t approve of your behaviour’ looks would calm him down.  
“You know what?” Dean spat furiously, standing up and kicking his chair aside. “Don’t even ‘Dean’ me. I am sick of this shit, I’m sick of, of angels, of demons, of this entire fucking mess. Heh, fuck it,” He turned around, raising his hands in mock defeat. “I’m out, guys, I’m fucking out. If I hear one more word about Michael and Lucifer, I’m going to fucking combust.” He left the room, slamming the door harshly behind him.  
All Sam could do was look at Bobby in defeat. Bobby, their lifeline, the closest thing they had to a dad, the only family they had left. Because, as Bobby himself once told them, “family don’t end with blood”.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, boy,” Bobby said, grabbing his bottle of Whiskey and getting up. “He’s just bein’ an idgit, he’ll get over it. Always does.” He clapped a hand over Sam’s shoulder before leaving the room, headed for the kitchen.  
Sam knew better than to talk to Dean when he was this angry. Usually, he only ended up making things worse, even though, eventually, Dean opened up about his feelings; it usually just ended up in tears or a fist fight. Sam was 26 now, he no longer had the patience to deal with his immature 30 year old brother during his now daily PMS outbursts. However, he did know someone who could get under Dean’s skin without having to worry about a fist colliding with his jaw – mostly because a punch in the face felt like a pinprick to him. That, and the fact he was too honest, blunt, and naïve to human feelings for his own good. Dean couldn’t help but secretly listen to him – even when he didn’t want to.

Sam looked up towards the ceiling, entwining his fingers together as he prayed. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel…” he thought, for a moment, about what Dean would say. Castiel always came more often when Dean called, than when Sam did. “To get his feathery ass down here.”  
There was a flutter of wings, and the air in the room shifted. Sam turned to see Castiel standing in front of the sofa, arms dangling in his usual awkward manor by his sides.

“I thought that was Dean’s preferred line.” He stated in his dead-pan tone. Most humans that encountered Castiel generally either thought he was mentally ill, intensely socially awkward, or both. Sam couldn’t say he blamed them; even though they couldn’t be more wrong.  
“Yeah, well,” Sam shrugged, getting up from his seat. “Dean’s in a mood, I need you to talk to him.”  
“Sam, I cannot keep playing agony aunt and dropping everything to cheer Dean up whenever he gets upset.”  
Sam pondered over the use of ‘agony aunt’, and wondered if he picked that up from Dean. Most of Castiel’s habits – rolling his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, laughing nervously (laughing at all), lying – he picked up from Dean. Sam often joked with him, saying that only Dean Winchester could corrupt the purest creation in the universe.  
“You say that every single time, yet, you still show up whenever I call you.”  
Castiel ignored the statement, and looked around the room. “Where is Dean?”  
“Outside, I’m guessing.” Sam said, shrugging. Castiel followed Sam’s direction, heading outside to find Dean.  


He knew that, in realistic terms, Castiel and Dean were just good friends. Of course, when you’re that close to an angel, it’s going to be quite odd. Castiel had a habit of invading Dean’s personal space, staring at him – Dean stared back, but was always first to break the eye contact. Castiel had made it clear to Sam that he and Dean shared “a more profound bond”, which, honestly, Sam couldn’t argue with. When an angel pulls you from Hell with his bare hands, and practically dies and rebels against everything he knows for you, you tend to have some sort of bond. However, Sam always wondered, if Castiel’s lack of social skills were to blame for the striking possibility of there being something more between him and Dean – how come Castiel didn’t act in the same manor towards him, or Bobby? It was something Sam definitely couldn’t ignore.


End file.
